


Invincible

by DorkPatroller (Lilmissprine)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, The Future Past DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilmissprine/pseuds/DorkPatroller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the day on the bridge Brady had been more and more paranoid about Owain. His willingness to die was heroic and admirable but also horrifying.</p><p>---</p><p>Owain is missing and Brady realizes that he may never get to tell him how he feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invincible

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no grasp on Brady's accent at all, but I tried and no one can say I didn't.
> 
> I wanted this to be fluff so bad so here is mild angst mixed with some fluffy stuff whoop.

The sun was sinking in the sky and the horizon had blossomed into all shades of pink and orange. It was a hauntingly beautiful way to end a bloody battle against the Risen. Their numbers were always small, always at risk of dwindling. Surprise encounters with monsters were hardly welcomed by anyone, but especially Brady. He'd lost everything he'd ever loved to those hellspawn, and every time they faced battle he was reminded that he wasn't strong enough to defend his friends. Time and again he was told that his talents were vital, that his ability to heal would save countless lives, but what good was it, really? To be healed meant that someone was  _already hurt_. Someone who was already hurt could just as easily die before he got to them. He often wished he had talents that let him defend his friends.

They told themselves it was almost over, every day. They had all the pieces to the puzzle, all the stupid gems. They were almost where they needed to be to stop this. The battle that would be ahead of them was twice as scary as anything Brady had ever faced. At least, he thought it was, when he stood there in the sinking sunlight. The Risen that stood between them and their destination now were just gnats flying around compared to the monster they would soon face.

Somehow they had all survived another day. They were nothing but a group of lonely, scared children, he often thought (and he knew he wasn't the only one who had fears or worries, but he tried to ignore the faults in the others, just as they ignored the faults in him)... but they had made it. Everyone was in one piece, even, but with some bumps and bruises. Some worse than others. Brady had just left Cynthia's side, in her tent. She'd been hurt worse than anyone else, midway through the battle. Her shoulder had been split right open when she came to him, grasping it in one hand and trying her best not to fall right off her steed with the other. He'd hoisted himself up behind her both to steady her and so they could escape the battle faster. 

But she would be alright. It would take more time, another round of healing or two, but with rest and more magic she would make a full recovery. He wanted to say she should take a week or two off from throwing that lance of hers around but... there were no promises she could afford to wait that long. They lived in a world where danger was around every corner. With each rising sun was another day that could be their last...and even if that weren't true, they needed her. They needed every soldier they could get when they faced Grima. 

They left the battlefield to treat her injury, because it was too severe to mend up with a quick burst of magic. There had been few monsters left when they retreated, and he knew the battle had ended by the time he had finished patching her up. He knew because Lucina had already come by to take a headcount. She always did. So did her brother--in fact, they often compared numbers just to be certain that everyone was accounted for. Brady thought it was odd that he hadn't seen Inigo yet.

The sky above him was beautiful, yes, but not a distraction. The moment he stepped out of Cynthia's tent he noticed it--tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. He turned his head to the side and saw Yarne and Noire putting tents up. Severa and Gerome were crouched in front of a newly built fire pit, laying down kindling and working to start a fire. Those were all very normal things but... there was uncanny silence. No one liked to fight the Risen, that was a given, but this silence was new. It was wrong.

“She's alright, then?” Maybe it was just the way that Brady had psyched himself out about the eerie silence, or maybe it was just that he hadn't heard him approach, but when Inigo's voice cut through the otherwise quiet air Brady's heart momentarily stopped. He clutched at his chest like he was actually dying, and turned around to face him. 

Inigo had a scrape on his cheek, and a black eye. Not the sort of black eye that came from a fist fight--he'd obviously been hurt in the battle. It didn't look serious by any means, but it marred the face of a man who generally liked to look his best. Inigo took a step back away from Brady, and pushed a few strands of his cobalt hair behind his ear, and Brady finally caught his breath. “Whaddid I say about sneakin' at me like that!”

Inigo lifted his hands in apology, and whispered a quiet one as well, but Brady narrowed his eyes at him. Something was wrong. Not because Inigo had scared him, that happened more often than Brady wanted to admit. He was light on his feet, always had been. It felt wrong because he was frowning. No laughter, no smiles, and that was abnormal. He usually took great amusement in startling people, it was practically one of his hobbies. Not to mention he lived by the theory that if he smiled enough, no one would ever frown.

They all had their own coping mechanisms, he supposed.

Brady cleared his throat. “She's gotta rest up, but she ain't gonna die yet. What...”  _What's going on?_  He wanted to ask what was happening. Why was everyone so quiet? They were usually all chatting by now, cheering each other up. Why did it feel like someone had wound string too tight, and that it was just one breath away from snapping? He wanted to ask, but he didn't get the chance. 

Inigo wrenched his hands together, nervously, and he blurted, “Have you seen Owain?”

Then Brady didn't have to ask.

His mouth felt dry while he looked down into Inigo's eyes. Inigo looked away with a hint of pink on his cheeks. Brady knew better than to read into that blush--he didn't like people staring at him was all. Brady felt like he was chewing on cotton in that moment, and Inigo chewed his lip in response to the silence. It was no damn wonder that the camp was so quiet. Their noisemaker wasn't there to rile them up. Owain was the one who started the victory speeches. Owain was the one who raised their spirits after facing death. (Cynthia wasn't half bad at it either, but with her out of commission there was no one to fill the void.)

Brady's heart was beating too fast for comfort. Like he'd been running or something, but all he'd done was stand there and listen to a single question and try to process it. “Ain't he back with the rest-a ya?”

“No one has seen him. I had hoped...maybe he would be with you.” Maybe he would be injured, he meant. Maybe that Owain was laying on a cot, hurt, but in Brady's care. Brady didn't blame Inigo for hoping something like that. It was an ideal scenario compared to  _missing_. Inigo's frown was uncomfortable, but it only stayed put a moment longer before he forced a broken lie of a smile on his face and said “I'm sure he's just fine! He'll make his way back any minute now. I think... I think I'll go find Lucina.”

“Any minute now...” Brady repeated it to himself as Inigo retreated from the conversation. He turned his attention back to the sky. How... had Owain been separated from the group? As he left with Cynthia Brady had cast him a glance to ensure the Owain was safe. He had been on his feet, standing tall. Fear started to gnaw at Brady and he took a few steps, walking to distract himself from the twisted feeling. Owain was  _so important_. 

Brady's thoughts drifted back to an uncomfortable stretch of time on a suspension bridge, and Owain's determination to get himself killed if it meant saving the others. Luckily nothing had come of that, they'd made it out safe by some miracle, but...

It had been the scariest moment of Brady's life, he thought. 

Leaving Owain behind like that, letting him cut down that bridge and face those enemies, that had been devastating. Even with Inigo with him, their chances were incredibly slim and Brady couldn't help him, he was on the other end of the bridge. Brady couldn't have helped him anyway, if he was honest. He would have slowed him down, no matter how much he cared about him.

Everyone Brady had ever truly loved in his life was taken away from him by death... and so he had promised himself he would never say he loved Owain. Not out loud. He had hoped it would keep him safe, in some backwards way. Deep down he knew it didn't matter two bits if he said it out loud or not, or if he loved him or hated him. Risen didn't kill people based on reason or feelings. They didn't discriminate. They just killed.

Since the day on the bridge Brady had been more and more paranoid about Owain. His willingness to die was heroic and admirable but also  _horrifying_. He'd promised, though. Brady broke down in front of him--in front of all of them--and Owain promised out loud he wouldn't sacrifice himself like that again. That didn't stop Brady from being paranoid that it was a lie. Any one of them would lay down their life at this point, if it meant the end of this suffering. They were so close to the end, so close to performing the awakening...

Owain had a smile that boasted confidence and a laugh that could lift anyone out of despair, and Brady knew first hand because he'd been the one to carry him through his darkest days. He carried  _everyone_. For all his theatrics, he was, Brady thought, the most held together of them all in a weird way. Of course he knew Owain was just as broken as the rest of them, underneath the facade. His heroics were just a wall he put up. Now and again his walls came down and he spoke in a voice that was soothing and gentle. Or maybe he only did that for Brady? He had only ever heard that voice when they were alone.

They spent more and more time alone, just talking, and it was probably why Brady had developed such strong feelings for him. Their time together was spent completing tasks. Polishing armor or stoking the fire or gathering wood. Always a task, because no one was exempt from those types of chores. But those times would be spent daydreaming of a future in which a poet and a musician traveled the world, awing their audiences and leaving their bloody pasts behind.

Brady reached up and swiped at some of the tears that had gathered in his eyes, and that was when he realized he wasn't at camp any longer. He'd wandered too far off in his thoughts. He turned to look over his shoulder and he couldn't even  _see_  camp. Just the distant bit of smoke filtering up into the air from their fire. He shouldn't have left (he hadn't meant to). He was a sitting duck if any stray risen were left in the area. He didn't even have a staff to whack them with if they got too close. 

He sighed and turned around, faced the smoke and considered walking back. He needed to go back. Their safety was in numbers, and Cynthia would need another round of healing when morning rolled around. He needed to go back because Lucina didn't believe in leaving people behind when they didn't have to. She and Inigo were likely already planning to send a group out to search for their cousin. They were pretty limited on Ylissian Royalty by then. No one would deny that it was important to find him, if only to ensure his body was laid to rest, properly.

The sky wasn't lit up in pretty shades of pink any longer, just dark. Not so dark he couldn't see, yet. He took a step in the direction of the fire, of the camp. Just one. Then he hesitated. He bit his lip. His face scrunched up. He started to sob, holding onto the thought of Owain's body, limp and lifeless and grey the way that he had seen hundreds before.

They weren't going to find him. Brady hadn't heard of anyone being left for dead with those filthy monsters and coming back  _not dead_. Worse yet, Brady  _had_  seen people become Risen, just like that. They could turn them. That, he imagined, was a fate worse than death. So he cried for Owain, because even if they did find him he would probably be a half-eaten, mauled up corpse. He wouldn't be the beautiful man he once was. He wouldn't have that sunshine grin, or watch Brady with bright eyes when he thought the priest wasn't looking, or push his hand through his dark hair when he blushed and looked away. 

And Brady supposed he also cried for his own stupid self. He cried because he loved Owain, of course. He'd made himself a stupid promise not to tell him, and it had backfired worse than he'd ever bothered to imagine. Now he was gone. Now he would  _never_  tell him. All those stupid hours wasted watching his lips while he spoke, all those times he'd suffered through sparring (if you could even call his godawful attempts at waving a practice blade that) if only because he knew he'd take his shirt off, all those times he'd daydreamed about  _when everything was over_...Because maybe when the world was saved it would finally be safe to love him.

But now he couldn't love him. He couldn't even try. Couldn't pretend to. It was empty and hollow and lonely and  _over_  before it even began. And Brady wasn't an idiot. He wasn't the prettiest thing to look at, he wasn't good at talking, but he was nothing if not educated on how courtship was supposed to work, in an ideal world. He was more than aware of the glances Owain stole in his direction now and then, and there had to be a reason why he always took it upon himself to circle back and keep an eye out for the priest. He didn't think... Owain cared about him, too. Brady didn't think it was all one-sided. 

Well, it was  _now_.

He didn't really know how long he stood there crying, but he did it until his eyes were puffy and his shoulders didn't have the strength to shake. The sky was only getting darker and making his way out of the woods and back into camp was going to be harder if he didn't hurry up. He wasn't doing anyone any good out here, not his friends and not Owain, for sure...but then a twig snapped behind him and he felt a weight on his shoulder.

Brady didn't even think (and maybe that was a side effect of how angry and scared and broken he felt). He just whirled around and threw his best punch. If it was a Risen he was going to die either way, he knew, but he at least wanted to get in some vengeance or something for everything they had ever taken away from him. He wanted to hurt them the way they had hurt him. His fist didn't meet with grimy, rotting flesh, though. It was met with a wobbly, but warm, hand and “Woah, woah! Truce, Brady!”

And there he was. Right in front of his eyes, Owain was standing on his own two feet. Alive, clasping Brady's fist in his left hand, and breathing. Breathing in and out. “Owain!” It came out more angry than relieved, but there was a weight lifted off of him the moment he processed the voice he heard. Not dead. He was not dead, but he sure didn't look great. His hand tightened a little bit around Brady's fist, and it reminded him to lower it.

“It's not safe out here, Brady, why are you all alone? I—are you crying? What happened?” There was a strange undertone of panic in Owain's voice, not comfort or excitement. He must have been genuinely concerned that Brady was alone, but...

“I—I ain't—What happened ta  _me_? I should be askin'  _you_  that! Ya didn't come back! I thought ya were...” Dead. He thought he was dead. He'd already been so invested in that train of thought that he'd started grieving, but there he was—covered in dirt and scrapes and with worry written all over his face. A worried expression that very gradually melted into a fond smile. He reached out with the same hand that had caught his fist and swiped a tear right off of Brady's face, and it should have been embarrassing, but instead the swell of comfort just made him crumple and cry all over again.

“I appreciate an act of heroism more than most Brady, but coming out here alone is reckless. You are an invaluabl--”

“It ain't heroism!” It was selfishness. Brady didn't come out there looking for him, he'd just wandered off to mourn in silence. It was then that Brady took a step back and pushed Owain's hand off of his face. “Shaddup! Not everything is a damn game! You coulda been hurt, ya twat!”

“I am hurt.”

“See! What did I just tell ya, you...” Brady paused. His thoughts caught up to his mouth, and he stopped being angry and confused to finally give Owain a proper look. He was scraped and dirty but he was all in one piece. He didn't look like he was actively bleeding anywhere, he was on his feet. But he was cradling his right arm, and he supposed it  _was_  rather odd that Owain had caught his swing with the left. That certainly wasn't his  _sword hand_.

Brady wasn't mad at Owain, he really wasn't. He didn't know why he jumped to the defensive. Maybe because he was just so overwhelmed. He didn't have a staff with him but he still reached out and took Owain's arm to inspect (and earned a quiet 'ow'). Without the support of Owain's other arm it hung a little too low, and it was obvious what was wrong. “How'd ya dislocate yer arm?” And this time he actually meant to let Owain tell him what happened. He reached up and scrubbed the remains of his tears away with his sleeve, and then went about pushing Owain's sleeve up as far as he could, to examine his shoulder.

He was quiet while Owain talked. He meant to pay better attention, but he was focused far too much on the task he had just been given—and even if he hadn't been he was dwelling on the sound of his voice. The melodic ups and downs of it, the way he sort of sounded like he was excited in spite of his pain. He focused on the way Owain still raised his other arm while he wove the story, to ensure it had its full effect. He focused on the way Owain embellished it. Brady got the gist of it. Owain was chased into the woods, and he got knocked down to lower ground, and landed just right to knock that sucker out of place.

While Owain was distracted by talking was when he decided it was as good a time as any to fix that arm. “Stay still.” Brady murmured, knowing it was a useless sentiment. He bent Owain's right arm at the elbow, braced one of his hands on his opposite shoulder, and put pressure on it slowly, but firmly. If someone didn't know better they would have thought it was some sort of awkward hug, with how close they were. He felt Owain suck in a breath mid sentence and both of his shoulders tensed. “Don't go gettin' all tense like that. It'll hurt more.”

Owain let out his breath in a quiet, airy laugh--air that brushed past Brady's neck and sent a shudder coursing through him. “'Don't be tense' he demands, while he indulges in slow torture.”

“Yer fine.” Hopefully--though Brady had never done this before. He'd seen it done once or twice. He didn't want to hurt Owain any more than he already was. But sure enough with another few seconds he heard a faint 'pop', accompanied by a quiet hiss from Owain, and he slid his hands back up to Owain's shoulder to feel that it had properly gone back into place. “There, it's over. Don't go moving it around a lot just yet. Damn lucky your shoulder was the only thing ya busted.”

Owain slumped against him, and that was somewhat unexpected. Not unwelcome by any means, but... well it had him worried. Maybe something else  _was_  wrong, after all. But then Owain shifted his arms until they wrapped around Brady's chest, around his whole back, and it was a  _hug_. It was a hug with Owain's face tucked into Brady's neck and his grip too strong for someone who should have been relaxing their arm...and for a few seconds Brady didn't return it. A few short seconds. As soon as he properly understood the gesture he slung his arms around Owain and tilted his cheek against the top of his head. He (stupidly) cried all over again. “I,” He sniffled, but it didn't do anything to tone down the tears. Owain didn't seem to mind. He never seemed to mind. “I thought ya'd died.”

He felt Owain's lips curl into a smile against his neck (and he became very aware in that moment that Owain's mouth was  _against_   _his neck_ ), but there was nothing in that sentence worth smiling over. Didn't he get it? Brady had, however briefly, lost him. It was so wrong. The camp had been quiet without him for a couple of hours, but he couldn't imagine going without him for his whole  _life_. He needed him.

He wasn't quite sure how long they just stood there but it had to have been at least a minute or two of silence. Brady usually shooed people away when he cried, even Owain, but this time he didn't—he couldn't—he just let Owain support part of his weight while he hiccuped and sobbed into his hair. He didn't even think he had anything left to cry. He was going to run out of tears. When he was finally through, when he could finally breathe again and not choke on his sobs, then the sky was  _really_  dark. He wasn't afraid of the dark, though, not when the light of his whole world was standing right there, holding him.

“All better, now?” Owain tilted his face so his mouth was closer to Brady's ear when he whispered the question, like he was unsure if he might break Brady all over again by asking it. Was he better? In theory. This whole event had just shown him that he could never, ever lose Owain. It made him want to do everything in his power to get stronger—reinvigorated him to do so—because someone needed to protect him, too. Healing could only go so far.

“Never do that again.” Owain chuckled and pushed himself back from Brady, and before that moment he hadn't realized just how warm Owain's embrace had been. Brady knew he was a gross mess from his sobbing, he was already midway through scrubbing the stains off of his face with his sleeves. Even so, the myrmidon looked up and into his eyes with a smile that almost felt as warm as his hug had, and Brady thought  _Owain's_  eyes looked a little watery. “What's got  _you_  cryin'?” Wasn't that his job? He was better at it than anyone in camp, he thought. 

Owain shook his head and blinked away any shimmer to his eyes. Just like that, and he wasn't going to sob. Brady thought he should have taken notes--he had less control over his own emotions. “I wasn't! I'm not—but even if I was it would have been because I was so moved by your heartfelt display of concern for my well being. Of course, you know as well as I that I cannot promise I will go unharmed. Until this is over, and the last bloody battle is won, this hero will rush into--”

“I love ya.”

“--the fray...” Owain closed his mouth and Brady supposed he shouldn't have dropped that weight right on him. He should have kept it to himself until they had finished this war, stopped this dragon's rampage... but Owain was right. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't get hurt, and Brady couldn't promise that he wouldn't kick the bucket. How many more chances would he have to say it? What if this was the only one?

One of them could die.

There was quite a bit of silence drawn between them, after he said that. Silence didn't make sense, Brady had been pretty confident his feelings weren't going to be one-sided. There was a shock factor, he supposed, but... well it was a long one. Owain had better reflexes than that. A seed of self doubt started to blossom inside of Brady, but he didn't say anything. He just waited for Owain to do something. Anything really.

What he got was worth the wait. Owain dipped his head to one side, but he smiled wide. A dopey sort of smile that Brady sort of wanted to see on his face for the rest of his life (and it damn well had better be a long life, too).

“Whatterya just standin' there for?”

“I don't know what to say.” Owain admitted, with a noise that might have been a laugh. But he did finally move, he took a step closer to Brady just to make the setting a little more intimate, just to make sure he knew it wasn't some sort of rejection. “I think you've rendered me speechless!”

“Well snap out of it! It's weird.” Blush spread hot over Brady's cheeks then. Funny, he hadn't blushed when he'd confessed. He turned his head to look away, and added “D-Don't... don't go telling anyone about this I... And you don't have to...just because I went and ran my mouth doesn't mean I'm expectin' you ta start kissin' on me or somethin', I just... If you're so damn determined to die I wanted to get it out 'fore ya did.”

“Ha! Determined to die?” Owain shook his head, and Brady was acutely aware that he had leaned in close enough that their noses were just about touching, something that implied Owain was elevated on the platforms of his feet. Was it horrible that Brady imagined what it would be like for them to kiss? He wasn't so distracted that he wasn't listening to the man he loved run his mouth. “Nothing could be farther from the truth. Granted a true hero is ready to lay down his life for his cause, but... I would never leave you, not willingly. I love you infinitely too much, for that.”

Well when he said it like that how could Brady not kiss him? It was too easy to lean down the quarter of an inch left between them and press their lips together. And it was embarrassing, because Brady had no idea how to kiss someone... but Owain didn't seem to mind, because the moment the contact between their mouths happened he shifted so his hands could hold his face. They brushed over his skin in such a way that sent a chill through Brady, but a sort of nice chill. He didn't want it to stop. Maybe not ever. Owain's lips were chapped and his fingertips were calloused but it was a touch Brady had always dreamed of, and he wouldn't have imagined it any other way.

“Brady,” Owain didn't really pull away when the kiss ended. He whispered his name, and he did it against his lips, brushing them together in a way that Brady had never felt before. He sort of liked it, if he was honest. When it was quiet and intimate like this, with no one but the crickets to make noise... it was peaceful. It almost felt like it was safe--wrapped up around Owain like that. It almost felt like they didn't live in some sort of apocalyptic hellhole. “When this great evil has been struck down, and Ylisse is at peace again... Maybe then I can promise you my safety.”

“If we live through this."

“We will.” Owain slid his hands down Brady's arms, each finger trailing down and leaving a trail of tingles in its wake. He wove their fingers together the same way he wove his stories, with confidence and pride. Brady shifted his fingers to accommodate the gesture.“Together, how can we not? I draw strength from each gaze you've sent my way. Imagine how strong I may be, bestowed with your kiss? Perhaps invincible.”

“Y'ain't invincible.” Brady snorted, and he was amazed that Owain had managed to put a smile on his face after how long he had cried. Owain always did tend to cheer him up, however. Owain wasn't invincible by any means, no one was, and Brady knew that more than anyone. He'd healed way more than his fair share of wounds. Still... they were going to live. Both of them. All of them. When the world was saved and they could live in peace...he knew then that he could love Owain without restraint. 

Brady knew he was strong enough to fight for that.

 


End file.
